2. Mila
Mila
Ishifted, and a bolt of pain shot through me. My head was groggy, and my mouth was dry. My left arm was pinned to my chest, and my thigh throbbed. With more effort than it should have taken, I lifted my right arm and touched the left. That movement alone was agonizing.
Eyes still closed, I took a deep breath. Despite the pain, I was warm, and the surface beneath me was soft. There was even some kind of pillow pile keeping my shoulder stable. With my good hand, I grazed the chunky knit blanket covering me, reveling in its plushness, grateful for its comfort.
Though in the back of my mind, a little voice urged me to panic, to move, to hide, my muscles ached too much to allow it. So, taking my chances, I lay still, piecing together where I was and why every inch of my body ached so badly.
Running through the woods.
Losing my phone and the evidence.
My chest tightened at the memories. Fuck.
Jude.
Though there was no relief when I thought of him, the pain was a little more bittersweet.
That pretty doctor who laid me on the kitchen counter and cranked my shoulder back into place.
That may have been the most painful moment of the day, but the almost immediate relief was worth it.
Falling asleep on the couch while patting the giant dog.
Huh.
Slowly, I forced my eyes open, searching for Ripley.
But rather than being met with Jude’s living room, I found myself propped up by a mountain of pillows in the middle of a massive king-size bed, staring up at a ceiling fan.
I scanned the room, noting the thick blanket that in the light peeking in from around the curtains was a deep shade of green and was tucked around my toes to keep them warm.
I was assessing the dark furniture when Ripley padded into the room, followed by her owner.
I winced.
Jude.
He wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a faded T-shirt. His dark hair stood up in every direction, sleep-mussed, and his glasses were askew. I was practically immobile, feeling like I’d been run over by a bus, and the man strolled in wearing fucking sweatpants. Could I not catch a break?
“She is awake. Good girl.” He patted the dog’s head as he strode to my bedside.
“What am I doing here?” I asked, taking the glass of water he offered me.
“Resting, as the doctor ordered.”
“I said I’d sleep on the couch.”
“And I said you had to take the bed.” His tone was firm, but the corner of his lip quirked.
“But I was sleeping on the couch.” I remembered that part clearly. He’d been adamant that I sleep in his bed, his tone almost condescending. It rankled me, making it easy to draw a line in the sand. I was an unwanted guest. I would not put him out any more than I had to.
With a hum, he set a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers on the nightstand. “Once you were asleep, I carried you in here.”
My heart stuttered. “I don’t remember waking up. But I would have had to with the way my shoulder hurts.”
He shrugged. “I was careful and you were exhausted.” He grasped the blanket but didn’t move to pull it back. “Can you sit up?” he asked, genuine concern in his eyes. “I’ll make breakfast. Willa said you need to eat.”
With his hand on my upper back, he helped me sit up. For a big, rugged guy, he was so gentle.
The dog rested her head on the edge of the bed at his side, her dark eyes surveying me.
Unable to resist the temptation, I scratched her ears.
“Ripley likes you.” He worked around me, arranging the pillows to support my back more effectively. “She doesn’t like most people.”
“I need to go,” I said, shifting so I could swing my legs over the side of the mattress.
“No.” He leaned closer, and I was hit with a whiff of toothpaste mixed with a scent that was distinctly male. “Willa will be here soon. Rest for now. Your body needs it.”
The dog leaned closer, nuzzling my hand.
Her affection settled me. I’d always wanted a dog.
It was another promise I’d made myself many times.
Maybe when this was all over, I’d get one.
If it ever ended. Most days, I wasn’t sure it would.
Though after yesterday, it was clear it had to, and it would be in one of two ways.
I’d either ride off into the sunset with a dog, or I’d be six feet under.
Jude hadn’t moved from my side. Though he’d been a little bossy, he was as handsome and caring as I remembered. The burly lumberjack who’d taken me home, rocked my world, and then made me chocolate chip pancakes at three a.m.
I hadn’t forgotten a single detail of the night we’d spent together. The weather, the moonlight, the way his strong, calloused hands felt on my body. Or the location of this little house in the middle of the forest.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I murmured. “I promised myself I’d keep you out of this.”
“Out of what?” he asked, his gaze intent behind his dark-rimmed glasses. “I still have no idea what’s going on.”
“I need to go.” My first order of business was to head back to the woods. I wouldn’t rest until I found that damn phone. I’d worked too long and too hard to lose the evidence.
“Stop.” He stepped up closer so I couldn’t move around him without having to scoot down the mattress. In this much pain, and under his scrutiny, I didn’t dare attempt it.
“You’re safe here. No one knows where you are except my family. Take some time to recover.”
Embarrassingly, a big, fat tear rolled down my cheek.
“I’m sorry.” He eased onto the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my shoulder. “You’re in shock. Please let your body recover. We can talk about all of this later.”
Overcome by another wave of tears, I slumped back. Pain shot through my arm, making me grimace. I’d been so close to finishing all of this. And now I’d lost the evidence. I was on the run and injured. All out of sorts in the presence of this large man and his equally giant dog.
I willed the frustration to settle. It was time to lighten the moment. He probably already thought I was a complete headcase, showing up here the way I did and then sobbing in his bed.
“I have a question,” I said, keeping my tone easy. “Why Ripley? Is that a family name or something?”
He chuckled, dropping his chin to his chest. “No. Definitely not a family name.” With a stroke of the dog’s fur, he side-eyed me. “I named her after Ellen Ripley.”
“Who’s that? A musician?” As I asked, it suddenly hit me how terrible I must look. I was still covered in filth, and I could only imagine how wild my hair was.
He laughed again, the sound echoing off the walls and making my heart stumble a little. “Sorry.” He wiped at the smile on his face. “No, Ellen Ripley, the hero of the Alien franchise.”
I frowned, confused. “Are those movies?”
His eyes bulged. “You’ve never seen Alien? Jesus, we’ve got to fix that. Screw getting checked by a doctor. Let’s have a movie marathon.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed his sarcasm. “Should I have seen them?”
“Yes. In addition to being my favorite movies, they’re pop culture touchstones. Were you one of those kids who read books instead of watching TV, Trouble?”
After the last twelve hours, the conversation was anything but appropriate, but I couldn’t deny that the levity was welcome.
“No. Not at all. I’ve seen lots of movies. My favorite is The Princess Bride. I’ve seen it dozens of times and could quote it all day.”
“Interesting.” He crossed his arms, his biceps rippling.
The move made my mouth go dry. Or maybe it was my morning dragon breath. Either way, he was a sight to behold.
“How about I make breakfast while you get washed up?”
I nodded, suddenly desperate for a mirror. God, what he must think of me? “One more question?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have any Pop-Tarts?”
His lips tipped up as he shook his head. “Uh, no. You realize they’re nothing but cancer and frosting, right?”
Incensed, I stuck my tongue out. “Pop-Tarts are fucking delicious, and they’re perfectly capable of being a balanced breakfast.”
He cracked a smile. “I’ve got eggs. How about an omelet? I can put spinach in.”
Fighting the instinct to gag, I scrunched my nose.
With a sigh, he stood. “How about chocolate chip pancakes? You’re in luck. I keep chocolate chips around for my nieces and nephew.”
I grinned. “Coffee too?”
“Of course. Just please rest.”
He insisted on helping me out of bed but thankfully left me alone while I attempted to pee.
Since the sweats he had given me were so large, it wasn’t too terribly difficult to pull them down with one hand.
It was hard for me to ask for help in any sense, but in the bathroom?
It was an absolute no-go. I did have some dignity left, after all.
He’d left a brand-new toothbrush on the bathroom sink, which I made good use of. My mouth felt like the inside of a dumpster on a hot day.
As I brushed, I made the mistake of assessing myself in the mirror.
Shit.
Bruises bloomed across my face and neck, accompanied by the small scrapes and cuts I’d accumulated while crawling through the forest. My hair was filthy and matted, and my complexion was sallow. My face was so drawn it felt as though my skin was hanging off my skull.
Jeez. There was a time when I would have considered myself hot. I’d worn cute clothes, and I’d dated, living like a normal adult woman. Jude had seen me at my best. Before stress and living a double life had aged me significantly. Before stress had caused me to drop so much weight.
Here and there, I missed that life, that version of myself.
But when I reminded myself of why I was doing this, the sadness over the loss of the woman I used to be faded. I’d given up my life to seek justice. I was on a mission, and I wasn’t about to stop now.
Willa arrived soon after, wearing a smile and toting a medical bag. She fussed over me and accepted a massive mug of coffee from Jude.
I’d been eager to see her, anxious to find out what I could do to ensure a quick recovery.
But when she examined me, especially when she prodded my back, my spirits fell.
“We’re looking at least one fractured rib,” she said, poking around.